Dreams Never Come True
by xamountsofguiltypleasure
Summary: Based off of a dream I was  unfortunately  woken up in the middle of a few months ago. If it had continued, this is the way I imagine it would have gone. The final line is from a fantastic Adommy video of the same title. Enjoy!


The best thing about dreaming is you can be anyone. You can live out your wildest fantasies and show off the bad side of you and no one will know or care. Because you're in a fucking dream! You create your own world and people and situations. You explore your deepest wishes, thoughts, and fears. You see the worst and the best sides of people.

I was shopping in a Market district during the early fall. Leaves were changing and decorations were up, but the head hadn't drifted away quite yet. Everything was in shades of yellow and brown with reddish-purple highlights. Perusing the perfectly boxed-in cereal aisle made of nothing but Honey Bunches of Oats was my favorite activity.

But the true meaning of Giant Eagle, according to my diseased mind, was the imaginary grassy hill behind it where none other than Adam Lambert managed to be. Even in my dreams I'm intimidated by him. I didn't stutter. I was cool in my speech and action. He taught me how to do that lip pout that looks so damn sexy. We laughed so much behind that Giant Eagle. Finally, I asked the dreaded question – pictures? Apparently he liked me (or he's just a really good sport) because we put our heads together (and got some pretty shnazzy shots, from what I could tell). Laughing in between, he was much more creative than me. I didn't dare look away from the camera or look at him. I wanted to be surprised, for the most part, but I also wanted to interact with him. So after the picture of him kissing my cheek, I turned a little and made a ton of faces to try and make him laugh or get even more into it. You can tell he photographs well without even looking at a picture of him.

He finally looked at the camera for a few then sat down. I just looked at him. He motioned and made a face like, "Come on!" I was easily coerced. He wrapped my right leg around his, twisting my hips to the side, then cocked my shoulders to an angle. He lifted my chin, dropped my jaw, tousled my hair for a few minutes, and finally told me to hold still and close my eyes. The feeling of his hands on my body, especially my lips and upper thigh, was exhilarating. I had never felt that aroused before by another human being.

I heard him mutter the word "perfect" right before grabbing my camera and arranging my fingers on his chest. Once I seemed situated, he grabbed around my waist and I had to keep from flinching. Impossible. I flinched and let out a light sigh. He stifled a laugh as I pressed my nails gently into his shirt. Wait. What shirt? Where did it go? He _was_ wearing one, I would have noticed otherwise. Fuck. He fucking took off his shirt.

I was just fucking walking around a cereal aisle in a grocery store.

"Keep your eyes closed. It looks better that way." He whispered at me with slight harsh tones. _What's _better _what_ way? I was so beyond confused. And so unbelievably turned on. Fuck. What is he trying to do to me?

"Promise never to show anyone these pictures?" He breathed down my neck.

"Promise." I whimpered. It probably sounded more like an unintelligible garble to him. I was having trouble breathing, let alone speaking to Adam Fucking Lambert.

The silent camera must have been doing its job because for a while I still only felt that one hand on my side. Then it moved away and I felt it on my face a few seconds later. Still only one hand, his nose was on my neck. My chin. My ear. He breathed into my hair. "I need a little release. Hope you don't mind. The pictures can be your 'payment,' I guess." He said almost too fast before our cheeks brushed and he paused. I finally dared to open my eyes. Mistake. His were right there, glaring into me. Searching me. He was looking for something specific and was confused by it. Then his eyes drifted around my face. "I love your hair color!"

"Um, thank you."

"No. Thank you." That was the last thing I remember before his eyes came back to mine and drowned everything out. Soon we were less than inches apart. He looked down, sighed, then jumped on me. I could feel the grass hit my arms and neck as he perched himself over me. That one hand came back, but not rested like before. Forceful. I could feel traces of the other arm as well. I only got his lips at first. His hand was screaming the passion I know he was straining to hold back.

"Let me help you." I pulled away briefly. I freed the hand that remained on his bare chest and stretched it out behind his shoulder, down his back. I grabbed his back jean pocket desperately and yanked him toward me. Our hips slammed together. He gasped, then chuckled while returning his attention to exploring my mouth.

Lips. Teeth. Tongue. He inventoried every item between my cheeks and I finally gained the composure to do the same for him. I had no trouble finding his tongue. He made that part quite easy. Lips were almost as obvious. I pressed through, twisting and turning to try and reach every corner. How many teeth do normal human adults have? 32? Ah, who cares. I'm making out with Adam Fucking Lambert. Hell, I'm _lying underneath_ and _groping_ Adam Fucking Lambert. And I sure as hell wouldn't mind _fucking_ Adam Fucking Lambert.

I heard a soft thud as my camera hit the grass. I had forgotten he took it in the first place. Either that means he's cooling down, or warming up.

Question answered. His hands were back on me. Arms. Stomach. Neck. Hair. Oh, I love the hair feeling. His hair was slightly stiff, but still amazingly soft and thick.

His body shifted slightly and his knees clutched the ground under my legs. He started getting frisky and goofy. Everything from pinching my arm to jerking my pants down three inches. He laughed at that one. I punched him playfully in the gut.

"Fuck you." I choked out.

"Go right ahead." And he was back to breathing down my neck.

I stretched my head back and slid my hand from his jeans to his belt buckle, only to find it had already been undone and thrown to the side. Mind had as well. He coughed out a laugh as my eyes grew wider. He knew what I was thinking.

"You bitch."

"Hahaha. 'Fuck you'!" He mimicked.

"I intend to." I unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. This was the moment of triumph. How few people had gotten this far with the person of their dreams—with Adam Fucking Lambert? Not half as many as those that dared call him that to his face.

I couldn't bring myself to do anything beyond the unzipping. It was so . . . so fucking _good_. Impossibly good. Just the fact that I had fucking touched the crotch of his jeans had me moaning. I was already overwhelmed. I breathed out quickly.

"What's wrong? First timer or something? You sure don't seem like one." He laughed for the hundredth time. He undid my jeans with ease (not that it mattered since they were already sagging) then found my hand and brought it to his mouth. He kissed every finger then dropped all of them down under the flap of his jeans, looking me in the eye the entire time. Some form of soft cotton. This was it. Now or never, in a quite literal way. The famed Glambulge was about to flood my thoughts and dreams forever.

Not that a vague image of it behind black leather didn't already. But this was beyond different.

"Are you ready?" he stopped to ask, as if it was a footrace for third graders.

I glared into him and let out a strange moan/growl mix right before using one hand to pull his face back toward mine and the other to push his jeans down as far as my arm would reach. Lips. Fingers. Slowly.

Straight . . . to number one.


End file.
